


the black & the blue

by swamplamp



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, ayyyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swamplamp/pseuds/swamplamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He and Jesse have something crucial in common. When they’re not doing something illegal, they’re doing something absolutely filthy.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the black & the blue

This is an exercise in self control. It’s meditative, really. Saul wouldn’t have described sex in those terms before. But before all this— Before all this, Saul would have guessed Jesse as smug and demanding in bed. Boy, was he wrong about that. More on that later. Absolutely. To be frank, he never invested a whole lot of time thinking about this before. It’s true. He hadn't. Mostly true.

If things were different, this would have been easy. If Jesse was a smug little shit even on his hands and knees, Saul would have fucked him fast and hard across his desk like a common hooker. Get in, get out. It wouldn’t have been anything to shake a stick at.

Instead, he takes Jesse to his pad. His “pad” with the generously-stocked mini fridge in the bedroom and an array of throw pillows across the head of the bed. Not his _house_. Of course not his house; he’s bedding him, not marrying him.

Saul isn’t calling this a charity case, but he would have felt ashamed of himself if he let the guy go home on his own. Jesse has been keyed up amidst the alimony battle against Darth Walter. Saul knows what that’s like. More or less, if you take away the metaphorical aspect and everything drug-related within.

A week earlier, Saul broke down some boundaries to provide Jesse with a little much-needed hospitality. He let Jesse stick around in his office for some company. It started as a two-hour wait for Walt to pick up the phone and call back. He let Jesse get comfortable. At the time, it was mostly because the tension in Jesse’s limbs were palpable. Pace pace, back in forth in his office. Sigh and stretch, tap a messy rhythm against a solid surface. Then back to pacing. There is a limited supply of attempts for Saul to clear his throat and gesture for Jesse to settle down before Saul actually has to do something about it. So he did something about it.

For Pete’s sake, Saul knows what you’re thinking and, no, he did not dive right into an "over-the-counter milkershake" or what have you. He gave him tea and conversation, because there is a part of Saul Goodman’s charm that stems from bourgeois tradition.

The dirtier stuff came later. As in now. Jesse, who clearly has no relative familiarity of the slow-moving processes of the law and Walt’s inability to pick up the goddamn phone, needed something interesting to take up his time. He and Jesse have something crucial in common. When they’re not doing something illegal, they’re doing something absolutely filthy.

The important distinction here is that Saul likes to do the latter with some class.

So when the sun goes down and Francesca closes up shop, Saul takes Jesse somewhere to wind down. They settle down on Saul’s gently-used suede couch and it doesn’t take much of anything at all to bring Jesse to Saul’s lap. Jesse straddles and kisses like he’s had this on his mind all day.

The first time Saul brought Jesse to the bed, Jesse laid back against the mountain of pillows and froze like a rookie at Dodger’s Stadium.

“You good?” Saul asked, standing at the side of the bed with the sickly orange streetlights beating at his back in a way that would make the film noir gods protest in their graves.

Jesse blinked away the wide-eyed look and bit his lip. He bit his lip and smiled with actual, honest-to-god courtesy. “You take the lead."

“I’ll take care of you,” Saul reassured. He wanted to smooth a hand down the back of Jesse’s head and kiss the top of his forehead, but that’s not what these nights are for. Control, remember? Self-control. He peeled the loose shirt off Jesse’s back and learned what it took to bring Jesse to a puppy dog whimper. Jesse yelped and keened like he had never had a prostate massage before.

Tonight, he’s got Jesse open for him like a flower. A flower on all fours. Saul is buried in Jesse’s ass. He has inserted himself and is now holding _still_. Jesse is always so quiet at this part. Saul knows that he holds his breath, so he waits for that long exhale.

Perspiration prickles along the expanse of Saul’s back, betraying the suggestion that he is composed. He plants his feet firmly to the carpet. Any movement at all could blow this thing. This chi. This need for Jesse to make the first move.

Jesse himself is like a majestic deer, coming out of his hiding space to move freely only at the appearance of a blue moon. He takes his time, but for good reason. It starts like this: his shoulders visibly slump down towards the mattress little by little, then Saul hears a “mmmph” from Jesse. Then a breath.

Good, good. He rubs at the back of Jesse’s shoulders as a gesture of comfort. For both of them, really. He keeps his hips stock-still and rasps, “That’s good. That’s really good."

Perhaps encouraged, Jesse finally moves, even if it’s a minute clench and unclench of muscle. Intentional or not, it feels like a blessing. With another breath, Jesse blooms for Saul beautifully. With a groan, he comes to life and starts up with slow little bounces against Saul’s cock. They’re experimental and unmeasured.

Saul watches as the rim of Jesse’s asshole runs across the length of his cock and then he feels pangs of heat pool in his balls. He’s done his damnedest not to shatter the moment by smacking a hand across Jesse’s ass or calling him a disturbing term of endearment. Force of habit. So far so good. But now he’s the one holding his breath.

“God— oh, fuck.” Jesse shudders as his movements grow more intentional and brings one arm away from under his face to pull at his own cock.

Saul lets him have that. Jesse can take whatever he wants on nights like these and Saul will gladly give it to him. _Self_ -control? Jesse is the one in control of Saul here. He fucking owns him in this bedroom. Saul doesn’t move until--

"Oh god. Saul, fuck me."

—until he gets his cue. He tightens his grasp on Jesse’s hips and does exactly as Jesse says. The muscles in his thighs and hips creak from the tension of now-abandoned restraint as he drives into that bony ass. They are not leaving tonight unscathed, and that’s a-okay with him. Soreness and bruises are well-earned spoils of one hell of a night.


End file.
